Henry frowned. ‘Is this a history lesson?’
‘In part, I suppose, it is. If you wish, I will summarize it for you, and you can read the rest at your leisure.’ Ruth leaned forward to put her cup and saucer back on the tray. ‘Hypothetically, what if someone came to this country fleeing for their lives. Hypothetically, they came without money or papers or any offer of work, bringing their family from Russia – no, that is a bad example; Russian Jews have a better chance under the law. But from other places where your birthright brings with it certain persecution, where you are treated little better than slaves, where you see your children dying of violence and poverty.’
‘Hypothetically,’ Henry returned harshly, ‘your people do not have a monopoly on suffering.’
‘That point aside,’ Benjamin continued, ‘they land, they find lodging and in that lodging house they find help – with food, with clothing, with offers of work – but to get further, they must have papers and papers that prove they have enough money and enough support so that they don’t threaten to become burdens on the state.’
‘The Goldmanns,’ Henry said.
‘This is a hypothetical exercise,’ Mickey reminded him.
‘Like hell it is,’ Henry growled.
‘Now, those who have money perhaps contribute to funds for those who do not. They give what they can – be that money or jewellery or gold or whatever can be cashed or exchanged or passed on to those who need it. Those who make the travel documents or who create the offers of work or who ensure that bank accounts not only exist but actually hold money take nothing for the work they do. It is duty, it is brotherhood, but nevertheless money is required for expenses – paperwork must be copied, created.’
‘Plates engraved for printing,’ Henry said.
‘An interesting skill,’ Benjamin said. ‘With a multitude of uses. Now, consider. What old men choose to do should not be the burden of the young. Hypothetically, if the elders are accused of doing wrong, then the young should be able to say, with honesty, “We knew nothing.” Not all believe that, of course; some families are more comfortable with involving their children than others and it might be that children speak to children, not knowing of the prohibition.’
‘And the Goldmann girls told your son what was going on. And enough with the hypothetical,’ Henry snapped. ‘Speak plainly or not at all.’
Benjamin held up his hands in defence. ‘As you wish, but remember, this is all speculation.’
‘So,’ Mickey said more gently, ‘a scheme is set up to help unfortunates. Only the deserving, it is hoped, and not those who might do the country harm.’
‘I also fought in the Great War, Sergeant Hitchens. This is my home, too.’
Mickey nodded acknowledgement. ‘And so the Goldmann girls spoke about this and were taken by surprise when he did not know. At that point, of course, he no doubt coaxed the rest from them. So this money and these documents – how were they collected and where were they sent? I assume someone went to the boarding house, explained the situation, and whatever was collected was sent somewhere else so that it could be used for the cause. You realize this is not only illegal, Mr Levy, but it could also infringe the Defence of the Realm Act. The war might be over, but for the most part DORA still stands.’
‘And none of this happened, Sergeant. It is merely a possibility. What could have taken place?’
‘I don’t like these games,’ Mickey said bluntly. ‘But get on with it, so we can get it over.’
Benjamin gathered his thoughts. ‘If my son had discovered something like this, and if he had found that he had access to the packages that were sent with contributions inside, and if, by the simple ploy of offering to go to the post and then readdressing these envelopes, he could divert these funds—’ He broke off. Clearly, this part of the confession that was not a confession was difficult for him.
Ruth took her father’s hand. ‘If a young man like my brother was led into temptation because he fancied himself in love and saw no other way of protecting the person he loved—’
‘Than by stealing from others who might need it more,’ Henry said acerbically.
She swallowed nervously but ploughed on. ‘That young man might have done wrong, Inspector, but he paid for it with his life because he acted unwisely and dishonestly. He—’
‘So God smote him down – is that it?’
‘Inspector!’ Benjamin could not hide his shock.
‘You might be interested to know that the young woman he fancied himself in love with is also dead. She killed herself in her prison cell.’
Father and daughter exchanged a look.
‘You can’t expect us to feel pity for her,’ Ruth said. ‘She led him into temptation.’
‘Don’t parrot such rot. You don’t believe that any more than I do. Your brother wanted to be led.’
‘You didn’t know my brother!’
‘Does it matter now?’ Mickey said gently. ‘Both are dead; that’s all we know for certain.’
‘And God will judge,’ Benjamin said.
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Mickey told him. ‘Strikes me that God would have a hell of a time trying to work it all out.’ He sighed. ‘You know, no one has come out of this with any glory. You and the Goldmanns might believe that you are doing the right thing. For all I know, maybe you are, but if it turns out we can prove any of this, you’ll be arrested, same as any criminal.’
Benjamin Levy began to object, but Mickey held up a hand. ‘No, hear me out. Your son is dead. That girl is dead and saved the hangman a job, but we’ll never get to hear her story now. A young boy is lying in a hospital bed with scars he’ll never hide and the loss of an eye. He is fourteen years old, and the reason for his injuries is that he tried to get some of your precious papers back to Abraham. Your Joseph had told him that he’d share the cash and the gold and the jewellery, but that people were depending on the passports and the papers, and young Sammy, hearing he was dead, decided he was honour-bound to make sure they ended up in the right place. Whether your brother, Abraham, was still involved or not, he was the only link to Joseph that young Sammy had, so he took the risk and he paid for it.’ Maybe that was stretching the truth a little, but Mickey didn’t really care. ‘So you can comfort yourselves with your hypotheticals and your belief that you’re doing the right thing, and maybe you are, but all actions have consequences, Mr Levy, and none of us can escape from them.’
He stood and picked up the envelope. ‘We done here?’ he asked Henry.
‘I think we are.’
‘So, you reckon we can get them on anything?’ Mickey asked as they got into the car and told the driver to take them back to Scotland Yard.
‘Hand what we have over to the Fraud Squad,’ Henry said. ‘I doubt it will come to anything, but it might give the sanctimonious bastard a few sleepless nights.’
‘A little harsh, Henry.’
‘Rich, coming from you, considering your last little speech.’
‘True,’ Mickey agreed. ‘And to give them their due, I believe they had the best of intentions. And I liked Abraham,’ he added. ‘Despite everything, I find I wish him well.’
Henry nodded. He too had liked Abraham and, as Mickey had pointed out, no one had come out of this well. Everyone had suffered.
EPILOGUE
Clem Atkins sat by himself in what was left of Abraham’s shop, wondering what he should put in the clockmaker’s place and considering his options. He could let the place out. A family in the house and lodgers in the flats above and a tenant in the shop. There would be profit in all of that, considering he was now de facto owner of the place.
At Paddington station, Abraham collected his bag from the left luggage office and watched as the porter labelled a small trunk: To be collected. His bag had been packed months before, left in the locker against such a day as this. His brother had arranged the trunk. Nothing that mattered had been kept at the house or at the shop. Nothing that could prove anything against him or Ben
or anyone else. For all that, though, it had been decided he was better away, and not even Ben knew where he might go.
‘Inspector Johnstone will make trouble for us,’ Abraham told his brother.
‘Of course he will, and we will survive it. Be at peace; you have done nothing wrong.’
Abraham picked up his bag and went to catch his train. He had his precious photograph in his pocket, his tools in his valise and sufficient money. He could begin again. Not like poor Joseph. For Joseph there would be no new beginning.
Mickey walked back home past the clockmaker’s shop and saw Clem Atkins sitting inside.
‘Proud of yourself, are you?’
‘Not so you’d notice. But to stay in charge, a man has to look strong.’
‘Don’t let it go to your head,’ Mickey told him. ‘There’s always someone snapping at your heels, no matter how far you think you’ve come.’
Mickey walked on slowly, unconcerned. He’d received a telegram an hour ago, one that made him feel as if nothing in the world could touch him. Belle was coming home – in fact, by the time Mickey got there, she might already have arrived.
As he turned into his street, he noted with great satisfaction that the light was on. Mickey turned the key and called out that he was home. Moments later, Belle was wrapped in his embrace.
‘God, it’s good to have you back.’
‘It’s good to be back. Oh, but I’ve missed you so.’
Henry wended his slow way to Cynthia’s home and was told that his sister was out. He was welcome to wait, of course, although the children would be asleep by now. He wandered through to the library and settled with a brandy and a book, content just to be in a friendly place.
He thought of Joseph Levy and the mistakes the young man had made. He thought of the girl Joseph had loved, who had killed herself and whose inquest he must attend in a few days’ time. And he thought of Mickey and the pleasure on his sergeant’s face when he received the telegram.
And then he stopped thinking at all. By the time Cynthia had returned home, Henry was soundly asleep.
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